‘Did he now?’ Donoher asked.
‘This model is WiFi-enabled and compatible with the Vatican’s wireless network,’ Grin continued. ‘And it’s standard issue for the Swiss Guards. From his apartment, Cardinal Velu can send and receive e-mail and text messages.’
‘Has he done so?’
‘I haven’t checked. I thought I’d better bring it up with you before rifling through his e-mail.’
‘Of all the cardinals, Velu makes the least sense for this. He’s been involved in our negotiations with the Chinese regarding Yin and our other clergy for years.’ Donoher handed the BlackBerry back to Grin. ‘I want you to review Velu’s messages, but before you do, let’s have a chat with him.’
They found Velu deep in prayer, alone and kneeling at the grave of Pope Leo XIV in the Old Grottoes beneath Saint Peter’s Basilica. The claustrophobic space was all that remained of the original basilica, its volume so reduced that a man of average height could touch the ceiling with little difficulty. All around them lay the intricately fashioned tombs of Popes dating to antiquity.
As the sound of their echoing footsteps drew closer, Velu lifted his head and turned in their direction.
‘So sorry to disturb you, Esteemed Brother,’ Donoher apologized.
Velu slowly rose to his feet. ‘Just visiting with an old friend. I was unable to pay my respects before the funeral. I do not believe I have met your associate, Father?’
‘It’s Mister,’ Grin corrected him. ‘I’m not a priest.’
‘I do not understand,’ Velu said, eyeing Grin’s cassock.
‘Mister Grinelli’s sole oath is to the conclave,’ Donoher explained. ‘He is dressed in this manner so that he may move about the Vatican without drawing undo attention to himself. He is involved with liberating Bishop Yin.’
Velu extended his hand and clasped Grin’s tightly. ‘Then my prayers are with you.’
‘Uh, thanks.’
‘What has brought you both here?’ Velu asked.
‘We’re looking for answers,’ Donoher replied.
Grin reached into his pocket and pulled out the BlackBerry ‘This device was found in your room. Is it yours?’
‘Yes,’ Velu replied.
‘Please think quite carefully about the next question,’ Donoher said, ‘because we do intend to investigate this device. Have you employed it since swearing the oath to secrecy?’
‘Yes.’
Donoher seemed almost pained by the admission. ‘Then you admit to breaking your holy oath?’
Velu nodded. ‘I had to.’
‘But in heaven’s name, why?’
‘My mother is dying. That’s why I did not come to Rome immediately. I stayed with her until the last possible moment. I even offered to claim grave impediment and forgo the conclave, but she would not hear of it. She hopes that I will be Pope.’
‘What does your mother have to do with Yin?’ Grin asked.
‘Nothing at all,’ Velu replied. ‘I just pray the new Pope will be named soon so I can be with her at the end.’
‘Just so we are crystal clear about this,’ Donoher said, ‘with whom have you been in contact?’
‘My brother, Raji. He and his wife are helping to care for my mother.’
‘And no one else?’ Grin asked.
‘No one.’
‘Was your communication with Raji strictly about your mother’s health,’ Donoher continued, ‘and you at no time relayed information about the conclave?’
Velu nodded. ‘My oath regarding the secrecy of the conclave remains intact.’
‘Still, you broke your oath to refrain from contact outside the conclave,’ Donoher said, ‘and you will be subject to penalties as judged appropriate by the next Pope. Also, your BlackBerry is forfeited for the duration of the conclave, and you will from this moment abide by all the norms and procedures of the Apostolic Constitution.’
‘I understand,’ Velu said.
‘You are also forbidden to mention to anyone that your room was searched — this is a matter of life or death.’
‘Yin?’ Velu asked.
‘Yes. You should have come to me with this,’ Donoher said in a softer tone. ‘The particular congregation could have worked something out. Now that I know your situation, I will certainly urge them to do so on your behalf.’
‘Thank you,’ Velu said.
Donoher turned to Grin. ‘Do what you can with that device, and be ready to continue your search as soon as the conclave reconvenes.’
47
The Mercedes S500 Guard glided up to the curb at the Piazza di San Giovanni in Laterano. It was late in the afternoon, and the Lateran Obelisk that once stood at the Temple of Ammon in Thebes cast a long, slender shadow east toward the Scala Sancta. Two bodyguards stepped from the car and surveyed the area before permitting their charge to exit the armored sedan. Enzo Bruni appeared small in the company of the men sworn to protect him, though he stood five-eight and added a couple inches more with a thick head of wavy black hair. A stylish man, Bruni wore a perfectly tailored suit and expensive leather shoes. He took pride in his appearance, just as he took pride in his standing in the leadership of the Neopolitan Camorra — one of the four primary criminal organizations operating in Italy.
The bodyguards led the Camorra don to the side entrance of the basilica. A devout man despite his profession, Bruni sought the sacrament of reconciliation each week. He did so at a randomly different church, which pleased his chief of security because it avoided predictability.
The Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano was the true basilica of Rome and the diocese administered by the Pope as Bishop of Rome. Throughout the Middle Ages, the basilica and its adjacent palace were the seat of papal power, eclipsed only by the Vatican in the late fourteenth century. Bruni entered through the medieval portico, passing a statue of Henry IV of France, the protector of the basilica.
Bruni crossed himself as he passed the tomb of Pope Innocent III and continued toward the narthex. His footsteps echoed on the Cosmatesque floor — a work of art fashioned in swirling patterns of marble. From modest beginnings in the fourth century, the interior of the basilica was continually modified over time. An ornate wooden ceiling floated high above the floor, lit from beneath by clerestory windows and supported by arches and pillars designed by Boromini. The basilica’s history matched that of the Church itself, for it had been the scene of both glory and tragedy, all the while growing bit by bit through the ages.
As in Saint Peter’s, the narthex of San Giovanni contained a confessio and a papal altar covered by an ornate ciborium. Rendered in the Gothic style, the structure featured twelve frescoed panels by Barna de Siena and a reliquary chamber containing the heads of Saints Peter and Paul. Bruni genuflected before the altar, then continued down through the center of the church to the confessional.
Bruni examined his conscience as he waited his turn, reviewing any actions through which he spiritually turned his back on God. Only one weighed on his mind today, but Bruni feared it would be the one that damned him to hell for all eternity.
An elderly woman stepped out of the confessional and shared a meek smile with him. Nearly everyone who sought regular confession was Bruni’s age or older, people raised in the Church before Vatican II. Ironically, while the woman confessed her angry thoughts at an inconsiderate neighbor or some other minor transgression, many of those in greatest need of reconciliation rarely availed themselves of the sacrament.
Bruni stepped into the confessional and was greeted by a young priest barely a few years out of the seminary. The priest had the kind of face that made a person feel welcome in this most awkward and revealing of church rituals. Gone were the screens and kneelers in the confessionals of the old Church, visual barriers between supplicant and confessor. Bruni sat down and bowed his head.